


Samantha Sunday

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom Related
Genre: F/F, Murder Mystery, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21780529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Detective Sunday’s Wife was murdered. Will she find the killer or will she be next?
Relationships: Samantha/Cassandra Sunday
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Samantha Sunday

Chapter 1: Murder in the morning.

Blood can be surprisingly beautiful when it’s fresh. The deep red hue and shine in the light of the room gives the appearance of liquid ruby. Spatters on the walls, with graceful trails and droplets here and there, create an acceptable work of art. But this beauty comes at the price of a human life, and right now, standing in the center of the room, a group of investigators were wondering whose life had been taken and why.

Camera flashes from forensics team captured the wide-eyed, blank stare on the dead young woman’s face, captured her body sprawled in an unnatural position, like that of a ragdoll that a child had tossed aside out of boredom.

Detective March walked around the room in her forensics boots, talking to investigators, but I can’t make out what they say. There’s too much noise; the approaching sirens as more cops speed toward the crime scene, the shouts of the cops stationed outside, barricading traffic and telling curious onlookers to move along. The sounds merge together to mimic the din of crashing ocean waves in my ears. The red and blue flashing of the lights on the police cars washing over the apartment buildings and flickering through the open windows is starting to make me dizzy. A headache began throbbing behind my eyes, most likely caused by a surge of tears waiting to burst forth. I couldn’t cry, though. I wanted to, more than anything. I wanted to scream at the sky, to shout curses at the forensics team as if they had been her murderers, to tell them to get out of my home. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. But I couldn’t, because I was already awake. The logical detective side of me knew that I was in shock and that was normal for the first stage of grief, but the devastated side of me just wanted to let all my emotions out at once and get it over with. 

Detective March seemed to notice me swaying on my feet. “Sam,” she said, calmly. “It’s time you stepped outside.”

“But—” I tried to protest.

“Step outside,” she said, again, and I can tell from her tone that this is no longer a friendly suggestion for my own well-being.

After a moment’s hesitation in this staring contest with Detective March, I relent and force my feet to go outside and stand with the rest of the crowd of onlookers, watching the police swarming past me like bees in a hive, refusing to acknowledge me. They were probably thinking I was one of these spectators and didn’t belong here, as if I wasn’t a detective myself, and as if it wasn’t my apartment in which this tragedy has occurred.

“Look, here comes the coroner van,” I hear a woman say to another woman. “I bet it was a murder.”

Is it my imagination or is there amusement in her voice? As if she and her friend are watching a cop drama. Part of me wants to turn around and tell her off.  Vultures.  But I tighten my lips, refusing to acknowledge her thoughtless comment, and then I whip out my phone and call my parents.

“Sam?” The voice of Detective March calls out to me as I have the phone pressed to my ear. I turn to see her coming out of the building with an ugly brown folding chair tucked under her arm. She sets it up by a police car and informs the police on the scene to let me through, and then she waits patiently as I say goodbye to my parents and hang up. 

“Thank you,” I tell her, making my way through the staring crowd. “Did they find anything else?”

She shakes her head. “Just some bloody footprints. They’ll be analyzed as soon as possible.”

She takes a Styrofoam cup of water from an officer’s outstretched hand and offers it to me. “We’re doing all we can. Do you need anything? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“My parents are on their way.”

“Perfect. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I saw him,” I said after a moment of silence. “But he got away.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

I nod.

“Do you know his identity?”

At this, I shake my head. “He was a stranger.”

“Maybe to you,” she said. “But being a detective you’re well aware that nine out of ten murder victims know their killer. Do you know if your roommate had any enemies?”

“No. Everyone loved her.” I felt the tears start their journey down my face. “I don’t know if he was here to rob us and wasn’t expecting anyone to be home, or if this was a case of mistaken identity, or what his motive was, but he was a stranger to both of us. I know it.”

Detective March sighed, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Sam. We’re going to check all the cameras in the area, ask whatever witness we can find.” She looks me in the eye. “But remember, this is not  your case. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Detective March,” calls an officer, and Detective March nods and holds up her finger, indicating that she’ll be right there. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Sam,” she says to me, giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze, and with that, she departs.

Despite my feet wanting me to get up and follow her toward the officer who summoned her, I remained sitting in the folding chair with the Styrofoam cup of water in my hand. This is not my case. This is not my case. I turn my teary-eyed glower toward the reporters in front of my apartment building.

With cameras shoved in their faces, the reporters spout their speculations into the microphone.  Have you any decency? Just like the rest of the onlookers, they were scavengers looking for a good story. And there was no better story like a murder mystery. People love the ‘whodunits.’

“Sam?” My mother’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

I’m not sure when my parents and sister arrived, but they must have been waved through by Detective March. I thank them for coming and then lean into my father’s one-armed hug.

“What do you need?” my mother asks, her brown eyes studying mine. “We’re all here for you.”

I need Cassie back. I shake my head. Moms are magicians, to be sure. But they can’t turn back time and prevent murders from happening.

“Justice will be served,” my dad offers with a confident nod. 

“How can you be so sure? How could you possibly know?” I sink deeper into the uncomfortable chair.

“Mom?” My daughter, Ariella, holding our dog, Jam, in her arms, slowly approaches me with fear in her eyes. “What happened? Why are there a bunch of police here?”

I feign ignorance. “I’ll tell you when I know more,” I say.  As soon as I can figure out how to tell you… “Try not to be scared, sweetie.” It was all I could do not to throw my arms around her at that moment and tell her how glad I was that she and Jam had been staying the night with my sister, Carol, at the time of Cassie’s murder.

Jam’s whimper draws my attention to see her wriggling in Ariella’s arms. I feel a smile play upon my lips even though smiling is the last thing I want to do, and I take Jam from Ariella’s outstretched arms and place her into my lap. Jam promptly licks my face. “I love you too my sweet girl,” I whisper, and a light laugh creeps up from my throat when she licks me again.

“I’m so sorry,” Carol says, putting her hand on my shoulder. She lowers her voice, seeing Ariella still standing there even though she is, thankfully for the moment, distracted by our parents. “Cassie has never caused harm to anyone. I can’t understand why anyone would have hurt her.”

“I don’t know, either,” I say, and then a thought comes to me. “Maybe he wasn’t after her. He might have been after me.”

“You? Why?”

“Because of my job. Do you know how many scumbags I have put behind bars? Some of them have been released. Some of them have friends who are just as dangerous as they are. Who’s to say one of them didn’t come after me, or send one of their deranged buddies to come after me?”

“Did you see who did this?”

“I did. I don’t know him, but I saw him.” Another thought comes to me, an even more horrifying than the last. “Maybe he’s going after my loved ones to get back at me. That could be why he killed Cassie.” I look down at Jam in my lap and then my head snaps up at my sister. “Carol,” I practically gasped. “You need to stay safe. Keep mom and dad safe and  especially keep Ariella safe.”

“You’re a detective,” my sister reminds me. “You know better than to speculate like this. Stop and breathe. You’re letting yourself get carried away.”

I nodded, conceding to her observation. “Maybe so.”

“Detective Sunday?”

The strong male baritone interrupts my conversation with Carol and I turn to see Officer Brunswick standing beside me as if he’d manifested out of thin air.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Detective Sunday, first let me start by saying I am sorry this happened to you and your family.”

“Thank you, Officer Brunswick.”

Brunswick nods. “I have to ask you questions, you know the drill.”

Right. Questions.

The officer looked up at me. “Do you know what happened?”

“Not much.”

“Not much?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Okay…” He writes that down in his battered notepad.

“Did you see anyone?”

“A man.”

“What did he look like?”

I hesitate to answer, thinking again to my earlier consideration that Cassie was targeted by someone who thought I knew too much about them. But I shake the speculation out of my mind and answer like the levelheaded professional I am. “I couldn’t make out distinctive features. I just know he’s built like a man, about six feet tall with a thick, athletic body.”

Officer Brunswick nods as he writes down everything I say. “Now what about the victim,” he asks. “Your roommate. Were you close?”

Closer than you could possibly imagine.  “She was—” I close my eyes, trying my hardest to keep my detective demeanor and not transition into the very type of grieving loved one that I was used to encountering at crime scenes. “She was just my roommate.” I ignore the curious glances my parents and sister give in response to my answer.

Cassandra.  Cassie.  She wasn’t just my roommate; she was my best friend, my teacher, the one I told my deepest secrets to. Her irises were a mossy green and when the sun had hit them just right, they glittered in the whites of her eyes like emeralds in snow. Her laugh was contagious, a happy titter like birds in the morning, and her smile lit up the whole room. And now they’re loading her in the back of the coroner van to take her, my love,  my life , away from me. I can’t remember ever feeling so lost and alone. If I hadn’t been seated, my knees would have probably buckled right then, and I would have crashed to the ground like the rest of my world. I knew it was my imagination, but the slam of the coroner van door may as well have been the shattering of glass, the sound of a broken heart that would never heal.

“Detective Sunday?” Brunswick’s voice pulls me back from the abyss I could feel myself falling into.

I blink at Brunswick’s face, vague and shadowy in the pink light of the sunrise. He looks to be waiting for me to answer some questions I probably didn’t hear him ask. Behind him, the sky is awash in a cheerful watercolor of pinks and oranges as the peak hours of the early morning will pave the way for another hot and muggy day. Despite the temperature already rising, I feel cold and shivers run down my spine like racing rats. I must have been crying, I realize when I feel tears on my face. Furiously, I wipe them with the napkin Brunswick hands me.

“Are you are alright?” Brunswick asks again. “It’s a silly question, I know. Your roommate was obviously a close friend to you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“I’m fine.” I clear my throat and force my voice back to that of confident cop, but inside, I shake my head at myself. What a masquerade. Maybe my lifelong ambition should have been actress instead. “Fine, Officer Brunswick. Thank you for your concern. Yes. She was my friend— my best friend, actually.”

“We’re best friends!”  Cassie’s voice echoes in my mind, taking me back briefly to one of my happiest moments with her. I’d snuck a quick kiss with her in public and a man who lived in our building remarked on how close we were for being only roommates. As if it were his business what we were to each other. When I hadn’t been able to think of a reply, that had been Cassie’s response to him.  “Of course! We’re best friends!”

The neighbor had walked away, and we’d giggled behind him. It hadn’t been a lie, after all.

“Do you have a place that you can stay while we investigate your roommate’s death?” Brunswick breaks through my thoughts yet again.

“I will stay with my sister.” I turn to her. “That okay?”

Carol nods in agreement, and then I shift my gaze to where the coroner van had been. They’d driven away. I didn’t see when. I’d either been too busy remembering Cassie or too busy talking to Brunswick to notice, and part of me was glad for it.  Cassie.  She’d hated when I called her that, but had never stopped me.  We’re best friends. She deserved for the world to know who she truly was to me. Yes, she was my best friend. And she was also my wife.

Was .

I’m surprised by how many times I’d already thought of her in the past tense, and surprised at how fast that three-letter word could turn my blood to ice.

“I need you to take me to the station,” I say suddenly to Brunswick, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my parents and sister again cast strange glances in my direction.

Brunswick gives me the same curious look. “Sure, Detective. Whatever you need.”

I turn to my family. “You guys wait for me at Carol’s house.” I smile at Ariella. “You go with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Carol, okay?”

“Is Mama coming, too?”

Cassie. I was Mom. Cassie was Mama.  Oh God… how am I going to tell her that her Mama is dead? I look to my parents for help, but I can tell by the looks on their faces that they are just as clueless as I about what to say. When Ariella bends down to retrieve Jam, I mouth to them, “I’ll tell her.” They nod and then my dad holds out his hand and says, “Come on, Ari.”

“But wait, what about Mama?”

“She can’t come right now, sweetie,” I say the only thing I could think to reply at that moment. “You go on with Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Carol and go have some breakfast. I’m sure you’re hungry. And I bet Jam is, too.”

“Okay, Mom.” Ariella gives me a hug and I kiss her cheek. Then I watched my parents and sister lead her away from this nightmare. When they disappear into the dwindling crowd of onlookers, I follow Officer Brunswick to his patrol car and climb into the passenger seat beside him. Kindly, Officer Brunswick doesn’t say anything on the way to the station, giving me time alone with my own private thoughts of Cassie, of how I was going to break the news of her death to our daughter, of how she’d died, of the killer’s face...

The station is just a couple miles down the street, so I don’t have to think long. I can’t tell if that’s a relief or not.


End file.
